Slippery sloppy slushy slopes, slimy slimy silvery soaps.
Fluttering fluffy frosty froth,
Does indoor work equate to sloth?
This shifting dial from a weather thing-a-ma-jigger.
Spurring palms of the curious toddler.
Yo yo yo the yo-yo goes, Fluctuating, oscillating.
Level-headed to lambaste
An office window posed as a snow-globe!
Oh Wait! Nei! Nei!
The Rain-globe glass.
Sideways, inverted, wind-blown rain,
how many umbrellas will you attain?
Wind-caused goosebumps. Snowy dumps.
Icicles drip, drip, drip.
Oceanic, Fjords, and the North Sea.
Low pressure system
of the North Atlantic, headed east.
Gulf-stream gifts of moisture and heat.
Seven majestic peaks
confronted by Air,
As topographical obstacles
and receptors of solar warmth.
Give Air no choice but ascend some feet.
Meter over Havet på Norsk.
And as Air rises, it cools
and forms big clouds
Continuing cycles of misty shrouds.
This low pressure system
made an honorably modest low pressure people.
Flexible. And relaxed.
‘No such thing as bad weather they say
the right clothing keeps discomfort at bay’;
And even still,
this moody system puppeteers my day.
You Bergen Bum.
No more ‘fair-weather frolick’
Rain. Shine. Snow. Rain.
Of Bergen’s weather, You are in the garlic.
Go grab your down downs
and your fur-lined jumpers,
your Bean boots,
Oh wait! Nei! Nei! Your knee-high Hunters.
Run up those trails.
Splash in the puddles.
Dance in the rain and halt all your scuddles.
The world breeds enough chaos.
It’s written in the stars.
This. is. the. LAST day
around the Isobar Czar.